BATMAN: TRUE ORIGINS
by crowmedicine85
Summary: The truth about Batman and popular characters in the Batman series (my version). From what really happened on that dark and fatal night that Thomas and Martha Wayne were mercilessly gunned down in that alley way to how villains like the Joker and Catwoman were actually born into existence. These are the true origins of all that are found in the Batman's universe. Hope you enjoy!
1. Chapter 1

The year is 1950. A young Bruce Wayne has recently celebrated his twenty first birthday and the completion of his martial arts and weapons training. He has decided to return to Gotham City and tidy up some bitterly unfinished business. He has come home with the intent of finally avenging the deaths of his beloved parents, Thomas and Martha Wayne. He has patiently waited over a decade for this night.

Bruce has spent the previous fifteen years traveling the globe and training under various masters, learning various arts and mastering each one himself. The loss of his parents had thrown him into his studies in a way that it had become temporarily all that he had lived for. So compassionate and dedicated was his approach and determination to becoming the best, that he had picked up and honed new skills so quickly and so naturally that he had barely seemed human to those around him.

At the age of eighteen years old Bruce had had the foresight to seek out and employ a once private I and long time loyal friend of the now deceased Waynes, Alfred Pennyworth, and assigned him to the daunting task of hunting down the those responsible for his parents' early demise. The old man had been far from a disappointment, quickly picking up and following the trail of all those who had played a role in the murders.

Bruce revs the heavily modified 39' Indian Chief to full throttle, cape billowing out behind him and whipping in his tailwind, and flies down the darkened back streets of a run down and half abandoned section of Gotham's old Industrial neighborhood. He brings the flat black bike to a stop in front of a tall and looming old building that in its prime was once a booming blimp factory operated by none other than the Mafia boss called Lex Moxon.

Bruce puts out the kickstand of the motorcycle with the toe of one of his fireproof steel toed boots, and pulls a rebuilt Remington 11 out of a sheath and slides it into an open carry loop under his cape and inside of his suit. His hands automatically move to check his other pieces, they are all safely secured and resting in their places against his well chiseled body in their hidden holsters. Underneath his mask his face is cold and emotionless as a statue carved from granite. He looks to the sky, the full moon had passed only days ago and there are clouds blocking even the few faint stars typically able to be seen from these depths of Gotham's polluted innards.

Moving like a stealthy phantom on this moonless summer night, Bruce leaves the tricked-out Indian sitting in the shadows that are cast down from the colossus sized old building, and mounts the unkempt and crumbling but broad front steps that approaches the main set of doors. The front of the place is void of activity and left completely unguarded so he walks straight on through and into the place without breaking his stride. "Hmmm," he thinks to himself "Not a soul in sight, this is going to be too easy." Once inside he makes his way across the massive old lobby and reaches a stairwell located along the back wall of the building. He begins to climb.

He stops when he reaches the sixth floor, resting for a moment, not because he is tired but because his extremely well developed senses are picking up the tell-tale signs of people on the next floor. His nose is detecting the slight scent of a sickly sweet cigars smoke. "Cuban," he grunts under his breath. His hands absentmindedly ball into fists. The faint singsong laughter of a woman rings in his super trained bat-like ears. Underneath the mask the stone cold grimace give way to a chillingly cold and empty smile. He melds into the darkness of the unlit stairs and continues to silently make his way up.


	2. Chapter 2

Lex Moxon sits at a large and very expensive henkel harris executive's desk. He loves the way his reflection beams up at him from the pedestal set into the polished Mahogany veneer. The desk is situated at the far end of an over sized 7th floor office in his old blimp factory. This particular building hasn't been used to manufacture the crafts that helped make him rich (not by actual profits from the over sized oblong balloons so much as the protection they provided for his real money making operations - smuggling blood diamonds from Africa to Gotham) in at least a decade and a half. Since before he had been locked up.

The thought of prison makes him grit his teeth momentarily, but the moment passes quickly as his eyes take in the feisty young stripper that is sitting atop his desk. His desk that cost more than the woman made in a year. His desk that cost 20 times what a successful Gotham businessman was paying outright for a new dodge or Buick. He allows all thoughts, other than those circulated around his personal wealth and success, to flow freely out of his mind and his mood instantly returns to that of a more chipper attitude. Now! back to business.

"Life is good!" he says, "Now only if this peon-schmuck would show up with that suitcase full of cash, we can get on with this little.. transaction.. and life will be even better!" He cackles and pulls a satchel of diamonds from his vest and drops it on the pedestal of his fancy desk. The diamonds are fresh off the U-boat that sits anchored only blocks away in the Gotham River. Business had been very lucrative in the few short years since the Nazi's had been defeated and rousted from Africa. It had left things very open for such a powerful crime lord as himself to set up shop. And set up shop he had.

Max Chilton sat to his right, legs crossed and resting on the edge of another less expensive desk, the fat stub of a Cuban cigar jutting from his lips. The Chilton brothers had been very helpful in running things for him. Max Chilton handled his affairs on the streets of Gotham these days, and his brother Joe acted as overseer of the actual operations end of the diamond smuggling gig. Joe had come up in rank quickly while Lex had cooled his heels in prison, acting as a hitman and cleaner, taking out all of the Mafia bosses lose connections and competition. By the time Mr. Moron had been released from the pin Joe had become a made man, and he had brought his brother along for the ride.

A chandelier that cost more than all of the occupants in the room, other than Lex and Max, had ever seen in their life hung from the center of the room. It was tastefully crafted of white gold, silver, and encrusted with diamonds. The chandelier dangled above a table near the heavy wooden double doors with iron banding that had been installed into the steel rebar reinforced concrete walls on the front side of the office. The woman lounging on Lex's desk could not keep her eyes from the twinkling diamonds of the chandelier.

4 men armed with over sized revolvers and SMGs sat playing cards and stuffing their chubby faces with ridiculously large sandwiches. The veins in their thick necks bulged as they strained to fit their food into their mouths. The scene would have been comical if not for the amount of weapons and booze present. Lou was just clamping his jowls down, which were oddly reminiscent of those of a bulldog, onto his ham and turkey, as a set of explosions violently blows the heavy wooden doors from their hinges and sets them into a spinning motion through the air headed right towards the table of card playing goons. It is the last thing he ever sees.


	3. Chapter 3

Max Chilton is on his feet and moving toward the new gaping hole in the wall before the smoke even begins to settle, his gold platted Thompson raised in front of him. The middle aged Mafia Don, Lex Moxon, is not as fast to move. The woman who had been sitting on his desk moments early had thrown herself to the floor behind the desk, and he had already forgotten she had even been there. The lucky strike he had been smoking fell to his lap and was burning a hole through the slacks of his black and white 30's style zoot suit before he slaps it and jumps to his feet.

"What are you standing around for!" he screams as he slams his palms down onto the top of his beloved desk, his face flushed beat red. "Do something!" he hollers as he reaches into the center desk drawer for the pearl handled 8 3/4''barreled .357 Smith & Wesson model 27 that he always kept stored there. The blast had blown his all white designer Tando from his head, and he only then turned to reach around and retrieve it from the floor behind the desk, and just as he bends down and grasps it, something slices through the air just missing the top of his head by inches and sticks to the frame of his arm chair.

He hits the floor and cranes his neck for a better observation of the object. It appears to be some sort of a throwing star... but what is different about it than the ones he had seen over seas? Oh well, no time to ponder such trivial things, arms fire is erupting at the opposite end of the huge office. He hears the unmistakable sound of Max's Tommy gun as it unleashes wave after wave of a .45 caliber rounds into where the heavy reinforced doors once stood. The smoke has not yet cleared, but it is now quickly thinning.

Only one of the four sandwich eating goons has survived the initial blast, the rest had been taken out by the explosively propelled heavy doors and shrapnel from the iron bands. the remaining thugs eyes are wide as he fumbles around on the floor for a weapon. He comes up off of his knees shakily wielding a B.A.R, trying to bring the big guns' barrel to bare down on the shadow that is appearing before him through the fading smoke and settling rubble, but before he can get the sites lined up on the elusive figure, he sees flame sprouting at him and it is too late. His brains are added to the pile of carnage that was only moments ago a table of card playing tough guys for hire.

Max watches the mans head explode from one of the Remington .12 gauges' slugs, and unbeknownst to himself pees in his pants more than just a little bit, as he slams a new clip into his Thompson and slams the receiver back and begins firing away into the direction of the masked intruder who has just now become visible from his standpoint of the wreckage. The man is moving so fast it doesn't even seem like it should be possible. And what is he wearing? Max Isn't sure if his head has been affected by the blast or if this guy is actually dressed like Zorro.

The intruder quickly cartwheels to the left and then drops to a knee and rolls to the right while unloading the remaining slugs in the .12 gauge auto loading Remington 11 before dropping the weapon and flinging his bullet proof cape in front of him momentarily, barely reflecting a close grouping of .45 caliber bullets aimed at his chest, before launching himself into the air and back out the way he had entered. But not before he had flung something hand size into the middle of the room. Something that was steadily ticking away.


	4. Chapter 4

Tick-tock-tick-tock-tick-tock... And then a massive concussion knocks the legs out from underneath Max Chilton sending him sprawling. This explosion rocks the entire room and throws off an intensively bright white light that has a totally blinding effect. Lex Moxon is thrown backwards and comes down hard on his side, his right arm makes a loud cracking noise and he screams in pain. Selina, the stripper in his employment for the past few weeks, is not so lucky, she is thrown from the 7th story executive office in a whirl wind of debris and shattered glass.

Bruce enters the room through the missing front entrance that his first bomb had ripped into the thick walls and reinforced doors of the office, what was only a few short minutes ago now. He kicks broken cinder blocks and fragments of wood and iron banding out of his way as he slowly takes an assessment of the damage so far done. He doesn't notice the ace of spades that his boot comes down onto and crushes into what appears to be a puddle of blood and brain matter. He keeps moving.

Off to the left side of the room he spots Max, still passed out from the makeshift bomb he had tossed into the room. The bomb had consisted simply of a couple of concussion frags and a couple of flash bangs with the pins pulled and rigged to a rude timer strapped on an old German nerve gas grenade. Underneath the mask he smiles. "Worked like a charm." he says as he approaches the unconscious gunman. Stomping on one end of the Thompson that is laying beside max, causing it to spring up into the air, he then executes a perfect round house kick and sends the gun flying out of the nearest broken window and down onto the street below.

Bruce binds Maxs' wrists and ankles, and drags him to the middle of the room and drops him there, then turns his attention to the expensive over turned henkel harris desk and the crime boss laying a few feet away from it near the shattered bay windows that he had watched the woman being propelled out of, from the safety of his perch in the hallway. He looks down at the aging boss, how week and fragile a thing he seems to be laying there like this, completely exposed and entirely defenseless. He could extinguish the life out of him right here right now if he wanted to. Underneath the mask his smile fades back into the stone cold granite carving that is his usual face.

Bending over he retrieves the model 27 that is resting near the crime boss and sticks into an empty carry loops on the inside of his suit. He loves revolvers and this one just may serve as a nostalgic reminder one day. After binding Lex's hands and legs he lifts the man onto his shoulder and carries him to the center of the room and drops him to the floor with a thump. Then just as Bruce is kneeling down to tie the two career criminals together, he hears the heavy foot falls of small group of men beating their way up the staircase in a hurry.

Straightening up and starting to make for the shadows, a 1911 Colt .45 appears in one hand and a Walther PP appears in the other, but to his surprise he feels the cold steel of another gun, a gun being held by someone else, a gun being pressed against the small exposed section of the back of his head that is not covered by his heavy duty mask. "Alright pal," to his surprise a voice he has never forgotten all these long years away from Gotham city speaks into his ear, "Move a single muscle and I rearrange your brains." He knows the man wouldn't hesitate, after all, he'd watched him gun down his own parents.


	5. Chapter 5

Young Bruce stuffs another fist full of extra buttery movie theater popcorn into his little mouth. He crunches away and stares up completely captivated with the silver screen portrayal of one of his father's heroes. His parents have brought him to watch the evenings replaying of "The Mark of Zorro" starring Douglas Fairbanks, his father was a huge fan (so much so that he had had a custom fitted Zorro suit and mask made just last Halloween for a costume party) and wanted his son to see the film before it moved on from the big screen for good.

Outside of the Monarch after the show Bruce asks if they could walk home instead of making the drive in the car as usual. His parents gladly agree, wanting to oblige their son who was usually not normally so inclined to wanting to walk in the dark (or to have anything to do with the dark for that matter), and sent the driver ahead of them to the manor. Bruce was feeling inspired by the film and thought perhaps tonight he would face his fear of the dark.

Recently Bruce had been off playing by himself on the back property of their massive estate and had plunged through a crack in the earth, depositing himself into a large bat filled cave below. He had been stuck there for hours while waiting for someone to find him. Eventually his father's grounds keeper had discovered him and enlarged the hole for Thomas to climb down and rescue his trembling son.

As they passed the nearest darkened alley way to the Monarch, he urged his parents to take it as a short cut to the next street over. Typically both of the Waynes would not have thought twice about taking such a route home so late in the evening, but wanting to encourage to boys obvious attempt to face his fears, they obliged their son's wish.

However, once they had traveled a mere thirty to forty feet down the non-lit corridor a man's voice calls out from just a few steps behind them. Thomas is the first to turn and instantly notices the glint of metal low down by the mans side. The man appears to be wearing a movie theater ushers suit. He must have followed them after they left the Monarch.

"This here is a stick up, see?" He says in a cold and flat tone "hand over the valuables and nobody gets hurt!"

Thomas hands over his wallet and the petty cash from his pockets as well as his watch, which had been a gift from his father. Martha is in shock and doesn't seem able to move.

"I said hand over the goods Missy," The Robber barks. "I wont warn you again!"

"You better do as the man says dear.." Thomas encourages his wife.

"I..." Martha is still not quite snapping out of her shocked state.

-Crack!- Too late. A bullet catches her in the chest.

"Nooooo!" Thomas lunges for the Robber but the man springs back, ready for the attack, and pistol whips the advancing Mr. Wayne in the temple knocking him unconscious.

"Shoulda just handed over the goods." His voice void of emotion as he reaches down and rips the pearls from the dying woman's neck.

-Crack!crack!crack!- He unloads into the couple before retreating into the night.

Bruce falls to his knees and the clouds part, moon shining down, revealing his mothers white dress quickly turning a dark crimson. He presses his little hands to her chest hoping with everything inside that she's still breathing. But all hope is lost, and in that moment, his own heart becomes as cold and dead inside as his parents hearts have forever lost all their own warmth. Bruce's legs will not lift him and carry him to the street to flag down help, all he can do is stare silently at the blood on his hands.


	6. Chapter 6

"You made a real nice mess of the place," the man holding the gun says in an icey cold tone that is all too familiar to Bruce "well done sir, you have the fashion of a real homicidal maniac."

Bruce doesn't bother responding, but he didn't move either, the pressure of the gun's barrel pressing into his skull was beginning to give him a serious migraine.

"You know," the man calmly continued "you must be one crazy son of a bitch. What a waste of talent. Pity."

Bruce makes a half snort half grunt noise in reply, to which the gun is jammed a bit further into the back of his head to the point that Bruce is almost positive that the barrel is going to puncture the outer layer of his skull and pierce straight into his soft and defenseless brain matter. He glances into the reflection of a long slender white gold arm of the fallen chandelier, the man behind him appears to be wearing a red hood that covers his head, Bruce can not make out the mans face though he already knows who the man is. He could never forget that voice.

"Yeah?" says Bruce, "Is that so?"

"Hahaha! Yeah that is so! And your just a regular old clown aren't you? Come prancing in here going ape shit like someone has been pissin in your Wheaties everyday since birth!" harsh laughter, " blew the place into splinter's real quick too! ...But did you really think you'd get away with it?"

"I am getting away with it."

"Is that so!? I'll tell you what I am going to do then," the gunman says angrily, "I'm going to empty your brains onto the floor, and when my boss wakes up, he's going to give me a bonus... besides... there is only room for one caped freak in Gotham, and that's going to be me!"

"Your forgetting one thing." Bruce replies.

"..oh yeah? ... and just what is tha-" the gun-toter is interrupted mid sentence by a heel to the groin and an elbow to the solar plexus at the same time, causing him to double over which when he does, an insanely strong hand grips him by the neck and pulls down, flipping him forward and onto the floor. A steel toed boot comes down on his chest, before he is even entirely landed, and removes what little air had been left in his lungs.

"That I'm going to make you pay for your crimes." Bruce says and promptly kicks the red hooded figure in the temple, knocking him out cold. The pounding of the heavy foot steps had finally reached the 7th floor just a moment or so before he had flung the now unconscious Joe Chilton over his shoulder and kicked his lights out. Bruce flings his trusty bullet proof cape around himself fending off the bullets that are now flying his way from the submachine gun toting thugs who have opened fire on him from the massive rift in the front of the office.

In a brutal whirlwind of action Bruce back flips, somersaults, and spins his way towards the newly arrived grouping of thugs. He seems like something out of a nightmare. His pistols are flashing from both outstretched arms as he goes, and by the time he reaches them only one is left standing, the legs and knees shot out from underneath all of the others. He reaches out with well trained ninja like reflexes and hits the man half a dozen times in the chest quick, fast, and hard like lightning strikes before spinning back to face the center of the room. The thumping sound behind him lets him know the final thug has collapsed onto the floor.

Bruce returns to the center of the room and ties the red hooded figure to the other two criminals. Underneath the mask his face is a stone cold grimace.


	7. Chapter 7

-Smack!- Bruce slaps the notorious Mafia boss again, for the third time. Finally the man begins regaining his senses.

Bruce has removed his newer and heavier duty mask and replaced it on his face with his fathers old Zorro mask. He stands before the crime lord with his gauntleted hands on his hips.

"Do you know who I am?"

"What in the he-" -Smack!- He is cut off mid sentence with a closed fist.

"Do you know who I am?"

Silence, and then, "Yeah.. I guess I do."

"Do you know why I'm here?"

More silence, and then, "Yeah... I guess I do."

"Do you have anything last words?"

Lex Moron's life flashes before his eyes and the last of the memories to enter his mind is the most vivid: It was twenty years ago, on a Halloween night. He is a younger man, and much more reckless, though already an established criminal climbing the ladder of Gotham's massive underworld. He is making his name as an up and coming boss. Wow... that was a long time ago.

His crew had just knocked over a jewelry store, it was the beginning of what would be a long line of jewel heists and the start to a serious infatuation with diamonds. The job had been super smooth though on the way out of the place things had turned for the worst when some asshole cop had showed up out of now where and blasted him in the shoulder. He and his boys of course had iced the bastard real quick, but he couldn't go to the hospital without risk of being connected with the downed officer and the robbery.

That is when one of the boys in the crew had reminded him about that big fancy costume party that only Gotham's wealthiest citizen would be attending, at first he didn't understand how that was supposed to help his current situation, and then the man had pointed out that Gotham City's finest doctors would in attendance. Thomas Wayne would be there. They had made for the party at once and stormed the place.

At first they did not stand out from the other guests, it was a costume party after all, and they had been able to approach Wayne and shove a gun into his gut without anyone noticing. Or so they had thought. They and then forced the world class surgeon out onto a private balcony and made him to preform the surgery on Lex's shoulder to remove the bullet. He had done a superb job and just as Thomas was finishing up with the carefully done stitching, A police helicopter came roaring up seemingly out of nowhere and threw its flood light down onto the balcony.

Lex Moxon ended up serving 10 years, but was never charged with homicide, as one of his lackeys took the rap for killing the police officer. Either way, he had never forgiven the Doctor, whom he swore up and down had taken extra time on the surgery so that he'd be caught. Eventually word came to him that Martha had been the one to call the law that night.

To make a long story short, he ordered the only person he could trust on the outside at the time, A street hood named Joe, to take care of the doomed couple. He gave specific orders to make it appear like a robbery and to leave their kid as a witness so that nothing could come back on him. He would be rewarded with money, power, women, and anything else he wanted. And what he wanted the most was to be a made man. So a made man is what he had become.

Lex sighs to himself. Thinking how messed up life could turn out in the end.

"Yeah... I guess I do," says the tied up mob boss "I shoulda told Joe to pop you too!"

"Yeah Lex... you should have."


	8. Chapter 8

"Freeze! Put your hands on your head!" Detective James Gordon trains his gun level with the exposed back of the masked mans head who stands in the room towering above three bound men, "Now turn around! real nice and slow like... that's it... don't even think about trying anything stupid!" He couldn't believe what a crazy scene he had stumbled upon. He had been running down a lead on a case of his that brought him into this remote old run down industrial neighborhood. Typically policeman did not come down this far without a damn good reason, and a squad of heavily armed blue boys. Gordon was in the running for promotion to Captain, and he planned on having it.

He had been working off the clock to shake down a known hustler to the area, in hopes of gathering some information that might lead him closer to a very dangerous drug dealer whom was quickly acquiring not only large amounts of finances, but equally large amounts of loyalty and respect from Gotham's vicious and shady underworld. Gordon aimed to put a stop to the man's rise of power, but to his surprise before he could set eyes on the hustler, as he had been passing the blimp factory he heard what sounded to be an explosion followed by small arms fire, and it was coming from the top of the seemingly abandoned building, a building owned by none other than Lex Moxon. Lex Moxon was a notorious Mafia Don in Gotham.

On the other end of the spectrum Bruce can not believe how his own luck has turned. He looks at his parents murderers and lifts his hands to his head and beings to slowly turn and face the policeman. He is regretful that he had not blasted the killers as soon as he'd broken into the office, but the same sense of justice that had demanded he give the villains a chance for last words now demanded that he obey the law.. or at least somewhat obey.

"What in God's name..." Gordon exclaims half under his breath as his eyes take in the man in the Zorro mask, flat black heavily armored suit, fireproof steel enforced boots, and bullet proof cape. The clear blue eyes staring a hole into him sends a series of chills up and done his spine.

"On your knees!" he orders the obviously mentally deranged perpetrator. At first it appears as if the man is going to comply, but at the last moment, as he is lowering himself to the floor, the mans hands swiftly swing down and drop a flash-bang at the detectives feet. In surprise at the quick action James misses his chance to take a shot at the masked man and then it is too late. The flash-bang detonates and causes him to be temporarily blinded.

James Gordon can not see but he can still somewhat hear, despite the buzzing in his ears, and so he hears Bruce who is half deaf from the explosion himself hollering to Lex and Joe, "This is not over!" and then a moment later, as he is lowering himself out the window with the aid of a modified and weighted grappling hook, "Your crimes will not go unpunished!" And then he is gone.

Gordon would never forget those eyes. Or that gruff voice. He sensed some strange sort of greatness there that he couldn't quite put his finger on, where only moments ago he had thought the man was possibly mad. And yet... perhaps he was mad! Who in the hell dressed like that? He put it out of his mind for the time being and cuffed the men before cutting lose their bonds.

A few minutes later a parade of big body fords with sirens blaring fly down the dark road towards the blimp factory. A flat black 39' Indian Chief roars past them at 90mph headed the opposite direction.


	9. Chapter 9

"Yeah" the paddy wagon rolled down the road "Detective Gordon had us separate em."

"Lex Moxon huh?" a young officer with blonde hair says, craning his neck to peer through the small barred window between them and the back of the vehicle where the prisoners were stored. Usually the patrol men and detectives didn't drive these things, that was the prison's responsibility. Transporting convicts from jail to their facilities.

"Sure as shootin," the pudgy dark headed police man driving the wagon said to the younger officer "In the flesh."

"Hot Dog... I can't believe it!" and then "So who're we haulin then'?"

"Wait till you get a load of this one, Marky" with a sideward glance and a shit eating grin.

Mark's eyebrows arched and he was wearing the look of curiosity a child might on Christmas day after shaking a present trying to figure out what's inside.

"This guy... I guess he's some kinda bank robber, been wanted for a few months now"

"Oh yeah?"

"Oh yeah," another sideways glance "Gordon said he'd already gotten away clean with seven heists, and is suspected for 3 more!"

"Hot dog!.. seven robberies?" shaking his head and then "Shoo-wee, can you imagine how much money he must have stashed up somewheres?" Mark couldn't believe his luck. He sure was gonna have a story for his wife Julia when he got home tonight, why just to think of it made him antsy with excitement. He was riding in a convey transporting the notorious crime boss Lex Moxon.  
"Yeah," slight nod of the head "But that's not even the whole of it."

Marky could barely believe things getting anymore exciting than they already were, he was fixing to come apart at the seams already. Why, he was riding shotgun haulin' in a big time criminal.  
"What else is it then Bill?"

"That bank rober back there?" tossing his head towards the back of the wagon "I reckon he's some kind of dangerous"  
"Whad'ya mean by Dangerous?"

"Well, they had his legs all shackeled up, hands too. I saw them loading him up. Damnedest thing too, he was all decked out in some kinda costume."

"Well I'll be..." Marky trails off not finishing his sentence, his mind racing. By golly, Julie just wasn't gonna believe this. "Whad'ya mean costume?" He tried to picture what sort of get-up a bank robber might wear. He couldn't think of one thing.

"I didn't get that good of a look before they had em in there, they were mighty quick at it too, but I did see that he was all in red, hood, cape, and all."

"You don't say?"

"You don't say."

The police convoy rolled on down the road. Theree wagons carrying one detainee a-piece, and 13 squad cars with blue boys that were either very excited or feeling antsy. It wasn't everyday that you road in a convoy to Arkham Asylum. It was probably the biggest convoy Gordon had seen in his career as a law enforcement agency. They were headed to the asylum because detective Gordon wanted to get Lex Moxon put up somewhere his goonz wouldn't be able to reach him.

The asylum itself was a big old facility that sat on the very furthest edge of Gotham's outskirts. The main building looked like it had four floors to it from the outside but there were actually three more floors. The floors underneath had been turned into unimpenetrable cells that certain crazies got thrown into to never see the light of day again. That is where Max was going for now, he was wanted for everything from murder to business fraud. In more than one country.

Bill and Marky were riding 3 police cars from the back of the convoy. There were four cars between them and the next transport, and then three more the wagon carrying Max and the three cars in the lead, one of which carried detective Gordon. They were about 2 miles from their destination when it happened.

The convoy was rolling through one of the more crime ridden hoods of Gotham's outskirts when the explosion happened. The back door of the paddy wagon blew backwards and into the front of the closest police car behind them damaging the motor badly and causing the car to veer off a begin rolling. The other two squad cars behind them both tried to swurve out of the rolling vehicles way and ended up wrecking as well. Bill and Marky never knew what happened because as soon as the explosion had happened, the steel bars from the barred window in the cab were propelled into the back of their heads.


	10. Chapter 10

The police were scrambling around down there. Running to the wreckage. A few squad cars pulled around and barricaded in the two remaining paddy wagons. Well at least they were smart enough to do that much, but they hadn't the right type of weaponry even if they'd had military training on how to react to such a situation. They had no chance for what was about to happen. He stood there on the top of a run down apartment building, his cloak billowing in the wind.

He was waiting for the sound of their engines. He knew they would be coming. Nobody touched a Don of Lex Moxon's stature in his own territory and got away with it. Not even police. Whoever that detective was, should have known better than trying to transport Lex with such a puny escort. Sure enough a droning sound in the distance quickly turned into the sound roaring motors.

Trucks and motorcycles came roaring up from both directions. They opened fire immediately. Those poor cops. They only had pistols. These are the type of situtations that police could use to have heavier firepower. Gangsters were hopping off their bikes and chasing a couple of them. One tripped and the gangsters stopped long enough to stomp him to death before taking off after the other one.

He lifted his arms away from his body so that he resembled a cross and then leaned forward until he was falling, he kicked off with the toes of his boots before he completely left the building. His cape come out and acted as a glider. A shadow was cast over the goonz wreaking havoc below. One of them saw this and looked up. He must have called out to his allies because they began to look up one by one. A hail of bullets screamed up at him.

Soaring over them he made a sharp turn, changed directions, and spiraled down quickly to land heavily but on his feet between to surprised thugz. Two pistols had materialized in his outstretched arms, brain matter flew from the holes in the thugs' heads and he was in already cartwheeling into the fray.

His bullet proof cape protected him as he manuevered. When he stoped his shotgun was sprouting flame and spitting spent 12. gage cartridges to his right. Gangsters dropped left and right, when the big gun finally stopped, smoke trickled out from the end of it's barrel which he held pointed slightly towards the pavement.

As he round the rear of a police car blocking the back of one of the transport trucks an officer stepped out in front of him, two unsteady hands gripping a shaking gun so hard his knuckles were white.

"F-freeze!"

"Out of my way, cop" as he continued to move forward without breaking stride.

"S-stop right there!"

A split second later the cop was laying on the ground unconscious from the butt of the shotgun he had taken to the temple.  
He reached up, swung the doors open wide and jumped into the back of the wagon. He pulled the doors closed behind him.

"Hello Lex"

"You..."

"Me."

"I should have had you gunned down years ago."

Silence. That darkened alley way from years ago flashed before his eyes.

"Like your parents...ooofff!" He took a gauntleted fist to the gut and another to the kidney.

The flash of a handgun. His parents falling. The sound of his sobs. The feeling of helplessness and loss.

"...you... son of a ... aacchhhh!" A heavy boot that felt like a cinder block came down on his foot. A back hand across the face. Another fist to the kidney. Lex coughed up blood.

"I came here to kill you."

"Ya don't say!?"

"... but I've changed my mind."

"..what?"

"I've decided to let you rot in jail."

"You bastard!"

"...Thanks to you."

"Hah... I wish I could have seen their faces"

A round house kick broke his jaw and left him unconscious.

His anger had scared him there, he had seen himself becoming the very man he was condemning to death. What difference would there be in his killing from revenge in comparison to the Lex's revenge killing of his parents? None, that's what difference there would be. None.

The remaining police seemed to have the upper hand of the situation by the time he came out of the wagon. A small handful of goonz had taken off on their bikes, clearly defeated. He retreated into the shadows of the nearest alley way as the sirens of reinforcements could began to be heard in the distance.

He swore he would never forgive himself for those he had killed that night. He vowed to never kill again. He would not allow himself to become a villain. He was a hunter of wrong doers. He was a weapon of justice to be feared by the criminal element of Gotham.

He was Batman.


End file.
